Holy Flying F ck
by herosexual
Summary: Set in a nondescript grey area of time, before Renesme and her parent's bad choice in naming her, Bella has some serious doubts about her choice in dead boys. And sexy Emmett? Well he's just sexy.


"Holy flying fuck."

Bella exclaimed this eloquently as she tripped backwards over a Persian throw rug and fell onto her ass. Daintily.

"Argh! What the hell, Bella!"

Emmett tried valiantly to cover… himself. His muscular physique was peppered with water droplets; a thin mist of steam rising off his freshly showered flesh. His particularly exposed flesh.

Bella stammered dumbly. Emmett had never seemed so huge, standing in the hallway awkward trying to sheath his naked body in or behind something. Oh sheath was the _wrong_ word, Bella tried to wrench her eyes upward, attempting to fill her mind with her god-like lover Edward, but it was futile, for the smallest fraction of a millisecond, she looked down. Emmett was big.

"Turn the fuck around!"

Bella spun on her heel, still in shock, mental computations running rampant in her normally rather stagnant head. Taking into account the fact that Emmett was of a much heavier build than Edward, and that the only time she had seen Edward in all his liberated glory was when it was… how do we put this delicately, at it's maximum; Emmett was comparatively almost twice as well endowed as Edward. Had she been too caught up in the moment to notice this when she and Edward had gently, sorry no, roughly taken her halo of purity from her to notice his real dimensions or was Edward just slightly under-average on the vampire locker-room scales?

***

Later that evening, Bella sat across from Emmett at the dining table. The conversation flowed amiably crossing paths and going at parallels, she and Edward chatted quietly about how beautiful the other was and Rosalie seemed intent on stabbing the small deer-steak in front of her into oblivion. Emmett took her hand and squeezed. Bella's eyes caught the movement and for a moment her eyes flickered into Emmett's. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Edward's eyes was golden, liquid amber, flourishing, glorious, breathtaking, ensnaring, enchanting, mystifying, cadmium yellow, tawny like those of a majestic, wise eagle, but Emmett's; Emmett's were something else entirely.

For that spit second of connection they had been completely alone and isolated. He stared into her with such ferocity and intensity Bella's body was quivering, still recovering from the shock of his glance. Her heart raced for Edward. Hell, her heart pounded, palpitated, thudded, thumped and hammered for Edward. But in that moment, her heart had throbbed. It had pulsed with utter carnal want.

Her hands were shook with tremors and she could feel her pulse in her fingers. She realized her chest was arched outwards towards Emmett and quickly slunk back down into her usual I-really-_don't_ slouch, praying Carlisle had not seen anything. The next second all thoughts of Carlisle flew from her mind and she hoped with every fiber of her currently lust paralyzed being that Rosalie had not been looking at her. In some part of her mind she recoiled at the imagined wisps of flame coming out of Rosalie's perfectly shell-like nostrils.

Bella looked down, simultaneously, holding her breath, biting her lip, clenching her hands and pushing her knees decidedly together. Edward was murmuring sweet idiocies into her ear and no one else had noticed anything. When she felt like she wouldn't leap across the table into Emmett's (already rather occupied by a certain appendage) lap she hazarded a glance upward. Emmett wasn't looking at her. He was helping Rosalie remove her knife from the table. Bella winced; it was skewering the deer-steak.

***

Bella lay in bed, curled on her side her watched as Edward watched her watching him watching her. His pale, silver features were serene and calm, like those of a psychopath seconds before he rips off the victim's lips. Bella blinked at him and promptly rolled over. After a slight intake of breath she lay undisturbed, gazing at the flimsy light filtering through the miniscule partings at the top and bottom of the curtains.

She felt she should think something poetic, about the paradoxical situation, she had everything she needed and wanted, and yet her desires were as ardent and acute as ever, or perhaps a comment on the curtains, how light and guidance can be both before your feet and just above your reach. However Bella did not think either of these things, in their stead she replayed Emmett's naked body coming out of the bathroom over and over. Eventually her mind created and tacked on other pieces until the scene in her head was of an entirely different nature.

_Emmett is showering, there is fog in the air and condensation on the mirror, some how the shower is open and yet he is up to his calves, his chiseled, oak calves, in foam and bubbles, of a heavenly, virgin white. There is a soapy gleam over him; small scatterings of suds and bubbles adorn his unburdened form. He leans back into the spray of water, his hands; his commanding tools of domination reach up and run through his hair, luscious and glistering in it's wet state. Suddenly, as if waking from a dream, he looks over at her, the tendons in his neck flexing slowly._

_Slowly and deliberately, he steps out of shower, his steps are that of a hunter, experienced, cautious, and yet with out any hesitation or hint of indecision about what he wants. Bella does not move, as he gets closer she can smell him. He smells like oranges and cinnamon, there is also something, which she cannot identify immediately but recognizes as soon as his strong, large hands reach around her waist and pull her close, kissing her like only a carnivore could, he smells like the air before a storm. _

_All coherent thoughts desert the entwined being, she reaches into his wet hair, her fingers knotting themselves around his glossy locks as he pulls, nay, sweeps her off the ground her legs wrapping around his nether region masterpiece and linking behind his back. Her clothes are getting soaked, but they do not break the kiss. _

_Emmett carries her backwards, into the shower. All she can hear is his breathing, the cascade of water and her own heartbeat, blood hurtling through her veins, taking a wrong turn and tripping over some tendons, but hurtling all the same. Or maybe it was Emmett's heartbeat; she muses as his tongue purposefully explores her secondary palate. Emmett, it seemed, was genetically blessed in all areas of the human anatomy._

_As she feels the water saturate her, Emmett breaks away, his face is inches from hers and when he breathes out she feels as though her has kissed her entirely without even touching her. His eyes glow and gleam and make her thrum in places she had never felt thrum before. His mouth is set in a line; his chest is rising up and down dramatically, not fast, but deeply and slowly. His eyes are twin orbs of utter primal instinct; his left is gripping her firmly around her waist, his right steadying himself on the shower wall behind her head. For an endless moment they are staring into each other's souls, deep and penetrating and what they found there was surprised them. Bella nods slowly and Emmett traces her outline until he comes to her neck, and carefully, cautiously he slides the strap of her drenched top down her shoulder, kissing the now exposed flesh, fierce but restrainedly, before he eases and can let his inhibitions rest on their laurels. Then, he closes the shower door._


End file.
